In a Corner of My Soul
by DragonyPhoenix
Summary: What if Giles were the Big Bad of season 1?
1. Prologue 0

**Note**: The Council's motto is taken from Matthew 16:18

"In a corner of my soul there hides a tiny frightened child, who is frightened by a corner where there lingers something wild." ― Shaun Hick, _The Army of Five Men _

_There are two techniques by which discarnate demons, pure or, more accurately, impure spirits, may obtain influence within the human realm. The first and more common technique, one I expect every student in this class is already familiar with, involves the possession of a human body by a demonic spirit, for example as in vampirism. _

_The second technique is known as domination. Unlike possession, in which a demon takes over a human host, domination entails the creation of a psychic bond between the demon and its host. The demon does not inhabit the host but is, instead, connected to the host's mind. Think of a boat tied to a dock. Like the boat, which remains in the sea, the demon continues to be discarnate, existing in a non-material plane, but a persistent connection between the demon and its human host remains. It may sound trivial. I assure you, it is not. The demon is, in effect, always in the back of the host's mind, whispering directly into the host's thoughts, always exerting its pernicious influence. _

_The greatest challenge of domination is detecting the presence of the discarnate demon. Unlike possession, domination does not create physical changes in the human host. There are no fangs or claws to reveal the demon's presence. Psychological changes are, however, inevitable under domination. The presence of a demon in the host's mind generates tremendous mental pressure. In every case of which we are aware, the human host has undergone a significant personality transformation. The effects are not dissimilar to psychological trauma. An ignorant host, one uninitiated in demon lore and hence unaware of what is occurring, may well end up in a mental institution. Such a situation, while serious, is not our worst-case scenario. Detecting domination becomes a true challenge when the host is cognizant of demon lore. In an astute host, one shrewd enough to avoid detection, domination allows the discarnate demon free-reign within the human realm._

_The bond forged under domination, once created, cannot be broken. The human host is forever corrupted. Much like the host who embodies, say, a vampire, the human victim of domination cannot be saved._

- from Advanced Demonology 305, Watcher's Council Lecture Series


	2. Prologue 1

The heavy stone walls of the church were more appropriate to a fort than to a temple of God. Rupert needed it to be both but knew that, for him, it couldn't be either. He found a seat at the back before the service was due to begin without stopping to sign the registry. His clothes, the tweed he'd returned to after rejoining the Council, wouldn't raise a second glance. Nothing identified him as Randall's wild, bohemian friend. Nothing identified him as Randall's killer.

Mozart's Requiem charmed the air as the church filled. Rupert mused over the parallels, certain that no one else here would appreciate them: a gifted young man, misunderstood by those who'd raised him, who'd died tragically and far too young. The music, instead of celebrating Randall's life, invoked memories of his death, memories not of Randall but of the demon he'd become, memories of Eyghon breaking free of the circle, memories of the spell Rupert had cast to destroy the demon, and memories of what had come after. Wrenching his thoughts off that track, Rupert closed his eyes and focused on the music. His mind wouldn't still. He wondered who had selected the Requiem. It was an unlikely choice for Randall's working-class parents. Perhaps the priest had made the selection for them as a kindness, not forcing more choices on the family in their time of grief.

Randall's parents walked down the aisle slowly, painfully, as if their very bones ached. The mother's head was turned toward her husband, and Rupert could see little more of her than a babushka and what was likely her best coat. He felt vaguely relieved he couldn't see her face. He wasn't sure he could stand her grief. The father's anger was easier to handle. The man's eyes were red from crying but fury blazed from his brow. The one time Rupert had seen a bullfight, the bull, wounded by a half-dozen lances, had tried but failed to rise. Rupert saw that same look on the old man's face, not an acceptance of impossible odds, but a hopeless raging in the face of them.

Over the priest's consoling tones, Rupert heard a sound like that of water dripping from a faucet. It was quite persistent, drowning out even the words of the service. Rupert scanned the church, searching for the source. He stopped, staring at the altar. Blood flowed down from the cross, the tiny drops giving way to a trickle, a stream, and finally to a flowing river. The blood, stinking and coppery sweet, poured through the nave, splashing in waves over the pews. It flowed over him, past him, and then every trace of blood was gone. Rupert could hear the service again but what he saw was something quite different. Randall's mother had fallen backward onto the pew. Blood spurted from a gash in her throat. The father sat, staring straight ahead, covered in gore. The priest, still speaking, looked as if he'd just taken the worst beating of his life. His face, black and blue, was swollen beyond recognition. "Oh God no." Rupert didn't bother to close his eyes. Eyghon had been forcing such images into his mind, replacing Rupert's day-to-day life with vision of gore and blood and pain ever since the night that Randall had been killed. A woman sitting in the pew before him turned and shushed Rupert. Her blue eyes glared at Rupert, admonishing him from behind the bleached bones of her skull. Rupert dug his hands into his legs as he forced himself to stillness. _You can't make me flee_, he told the demon in his mind. _If I do run, screaming, from this funeral, the Council will find me, they'll tie me to Randall's death, and they'll kill me. You'll lose your only anchor to this world._

Rupert forced himself to sit through the service. Bolting wouldn't do any good. He couldn't run from what was in his head. But still, the moment the service had ended, Rupert found himself fleeing the church. Keeping his steps down to a fast walk, he strode between the roily water of the Thames to his left and a sooty industrial park to his right. Five blocks and one bridge fell behind before Rupert stopped to lean heavily against a chain link fence. Rupert looked down, expecting to see his hands dripping with gore, but that was one illusion Eyghon had never given him even though, or perhaps because, that was the one illusion that would have truth to it.

_My priest_. Rupert shuddered as Eyghon's guttural voice filled his mind. Eyghon's words brought forth images of unholy and forbidden rites, of himself laughing as the demon crawled under his skin.

"I'm. Not. Yours."

Eyghon's laughter thundered through his thoughts. _You were. You are. You always shall be._

_I'm not yours._ The words, unspoken this time, had lost their force. He had dedicated himself to the demon. They all had. He'd never expected that Eyghon would get loose. He'd been so stupid. He should have known that Eyghon would escape. He hadn't even prepared for the eventuality. He'd created a spell on the spot, one that had destroyed the host and had driven Eyghon from the physical plane. Against all expectations, the spell had worked, but it'd had one unforeseen side-effect. It had left Rupert open. The demon had forged a connection between them. It was always there now, in the back of his mind, manipulating and scheming. Rupert had tried dozens of banishing spells. Nothing had worked. Nothing could work. Nothing could ever dislodge Eyghon from his mind.

He'd returned to the Council in desperation, hoping they'd have some method of banishing the demon. It wasn't until that final moment, when he'd been on his way to confess his sins, when he'd been climbing the weighty stone steps leading up to Council HQ, that he'd remembered what the Council did to humans infected by a demon. Death, in comparison, would have been a blessed relief. He'd rejoined the Council but had kept his secret to himself.

Eyghon's mocking laughter brought Rupert back to the present. The woven wire of the fence felt cold against his hands. "I could still tell them about you," he snarled. "It is my duty." He'd taken the afternoon off to attend the funeral, but the Council never closed. He could go now.

They would keep him alive to study the link, extracting data with spells, with sharp and bright instruments. They wouldn't sedate him. It might mar the data. Once they were satisfied they'd gotten everything they could, they'd dissect him, leaving him lying there on the table, helpless, feeling them tearing away his life, inch-by-inch.

"Tomorrow," he told the demon. "First thing."

Eyghon laughed in the back of his mind.


	3. Prologue 2

The depictions of demons in the ancient texts, particularly in those associated with the Etruscan civilization, had always fascinated Rupert. He should have been hanging onto the professor's every word. Instead he could barely hear the lecture over the screaming. He knew the other students were focused on the lecture but Eyghon was showing Rupert something different: maggots eating through rotting flesh, bones piercing through human skin, eyeballs melting down faces, and more. He'd sat through the same hell in over a dozen lectures but finally it became to much. Rupert bolted to his feet, shoved his way through the narrow passage of writing desks and knees, and sprinted out the door as if the hordes of hell were chasing after.

He never did recall how he made it back to his own rooms. Sprawled on the floor as if he'd tripped or been shoved, Rupert's pounding fist sounded hollow and weak against the aged wood. "Please, please stop."

_Release me. _A face flashed through Rupert's mind, that of a very bad man, one the world could well do without.

"No, I won't hurt anyone, not even him."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Rupert saw Ethan. His skull had been smashed in. The brains had spattered across the carpet. Ethan's lips moved. _Release me._

"I won't. You can't touch him, not while you're only in my head."

"Ripper, please, help me." It was Ethan's voice, but he knew it wasn't Ethan. "Please."

Rupert's eyes dragged behind, glancing backward out of his periphery, as he head swung around to face Ethan. He snapped his eyes forward. Maggots were weaving through a hole in Ethan's cheek. It didn't matter that it wasn't Ethan. Rupert couldn't stand it, not any longer. "Alright, but lose the visions," he told Eyghon. "I can't think and I can't plan, not like this."


	4. Prologue 3

Despite his caution, Rupert stepped over the threshold, two nights later, with a sense of nostalgia. Ethan, upon hearing that the pub's name referred to a temple of Janus, had claimed it as their new watering hole. Rupert suspected that Ethan had been put off by how much of a dive the bar had actually turned out to be, but if so he hadn't let it show. Ethan's enthusiasm, whether feigned or real, had dragged their circle back to The Portae Belli at least twice a week.

George had been a regular then and Rupert was willing to bet he still was. It was a bet Rupert would have won. Only a scattering of the tables were occupied. Men sat together, in groups of three or four, to get down to the serious business of drinking. George, scrawny and disheveled, sat alone at the bar. Even these dregs would have nothing to do with him. Rupert could wish that his own friends had been either more principled or less naive but that was behind him now. For this job, George was exactly what he needed.

Rupert settled down next to George and grabbed the bartender's attention. "Bottle of Jack and another of what he's having." Glancing over, Rupert saw George was drinking a Stiff Tart and hid his disgust. Paint remover tasted better. "And a Guinness."

"I'll take a Guinness," George interrupted, "if you're buying," Rupert nodded and they sat in silence as they waited for the drinks. Rupert took his time pouring the Jack out into two shot glasses, aware of George's unwavering gaze. George downed the offered shot in a flash as if afraid it'd be taken away. "What do you want?"

Rupert pushed the second shot over, picking up his Guinness and the empty shot glass as George downed the Jack. "Not here," Rupert said gesturing toward an empty corner. Once settled at the table, Rupert poured out another shot and pushed it over toward George. "I need someone who can fit through a window."

With the shot glass just shy of his lips, George paused. "A job?"

"Something like that." Rupert watched as George downed the shot. "Too many ears here but there's no rush. Let's have a few more rounds and then we'll find somewhere quiet to talk."

He sat, watching George drink more than drinking himself, until the pressure from his bladder told Rupert he'd had more than the one beer. Damn. That hadn't been part of the plan. He slapped his hands on the bar as he got to his feet. "Back in a bit."

"S'not my fault." George's words were slurred. "The guy came outta nowhere."

"The mishap at the bank? Could have happened to anyone."

"No one'll work with me. My fault they say." Leaning onto the table, he looked over one shoulder and stared up at Rupert. "How come you wanna work with me?"

Damn. "Because no one else will. I'll get to keep more of the dosh with you than with someone else."

George looked more resigned than happy with Rupert's response.

"Buck up," Rupert said. "Time to head round to yours and work out the details."

Rupert waited until they were alone in an alley. One sharp kick to George's ribs and the git was already crying. Rupert kicked him, again and again, lost in the fierce joy of making someone else bleed until the crying stopped. Rupert dropped down, close to the body. The pulse was strong and steady if a bit on the quick side. Good. Rupert cast a spell to keep him that way, alive but unconscious, until Rupert was ready.


	5. Prologue 4

Finding the Thundercat had been easy. Back before Rupert had run off to play at being Ripper, Robson's uncle had taken them racing about the Bristol Channel. The boat was still in place. Hauling George onto the powerboat had been more problematic. Rupert had a spell that could make the man invisible but not any lighter. However the water had been calm and pulling the inflatable boat onto the beach had been simple enough. The island was small, too small for anyone to live on, but that meant Rupert didn't have to hide, even if it was a good hour until sunset, as he pulled George out of the boat. Rupert used magic to paralyze George before dropping the spell that had kept him knocked out. "Georgie porgie, pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry. Wakey, wakey."

"I can't move. Why can't I move?"

"Can't have you squirming, old chum. The Mark has to be perfect."

"Mark? What mark? What the hell is this?"

Rupert ignored the question. "If I were a true traditionalist, it would be tattooed on, but you won't be around long enough for that to make a difference. A marker will do well enough."

"You can't get away with this. I have friends."

Rupert raised the marker up from George's arm. "No, you really don't."

"Lamont, he saw us at the pub."

"Nobody saw us and nobody will care when you're gone."

"Gone? You mean dead gone?" Ah, he finally understood.

Rupert started in on the Mark again. "I suppose you want to know why."

"Help. Help."

Rupert squatted down and put a hand over George's mouth. "It's no use shouting. No one can hear you. And, if you are interested, the bank job."

"What? Ripper, man, there wasn't supposed to be anyone there. The bank was supposed to be empty. We had to kill him, man. It was that or the slammer. And anyway, I wasn't the one who killed him. That was Butler, man, he did it."

"Perhaps," Ripper said as he finished sketching out the edges of Eyghon's Mark. "But you were the one stupid enough to brag about it. Killed a copper, you said. It's not, in the final analysis, that you're evil. You're merely too stupid to live. Looked at the right way, I'm doing the world a favor."

The sun had set but there was still light to see by when Rupert finished the tattoo. He'd given up cigs but paused for one last smoke. It wasn't as if lung cancer would be killing him, now was it. The island was empty. There was no one else for Eyghon to kill. It would be messy and it would be painful but soon it would be over.

The ritual went without a hitch. The demon's energy tore through the spell, releasing the body. Where George had been bound, Eyghon rose to his feet. "Where am I?"

Rupert wasn't sure why he grinned. Eyghon, still in his head, would know how terrified he was. "A small island in the Bristol Channel. I'm afraid there's no one else about."

The demon's fist hit his jaw. Rupert stumbled back but kept to his feet for three more strikes. As he hit the ground, darkness grabbed ahold of him. Rupert smiled. It had been an easier death than he'd expected.


	6. Prologue 5

Rupert came to wondering if the Greek myths about Charon were true. He remembered a loud buzzing and a sense of movement, but after that he'd felt as if he were in a boat being propelled forward by waves. He seemed to by lying in water although that didn't discount a boat, not if water had splashed over the edges, but the surface below him was stable now. He opened his eyes, half expecting to see a ferryman demanding his fee, but Rupert was alone and he recognized the boat. It was the Thundercat he'd stolen.

Rupert sat up. "Oh Good Lord." The small island he'd picked was gone. Here he could see, by the light of a few solitary bulbs, a dock, a boathouse, and a road. Eyghon hadn't killed him. Eyghon had found other victims.

There were a couple of oars, one hooked on to each side of the boat. Rupert grabbed one and took a couple of swings. The damned thing was aluminum, lighter than he'd prefer for a weapon. It would have to. He paused to listen but the island was quiet outside of the waves lapping against the shore. Not knowing where Eyghon had gone, Rupert chose to follow the road. If he couldn't find the demon, perhaps he could warn the occupants although how he was going to explain this …

The cliffs, which had been back far beyond the boathouse, angled in toward the road until they towered over Rupert as he jogged forward. The night was darker here but the road glowed, a pale white against the vegetation to one side and the darker shadows rising above on the other. By the time Rupert cleared the cliffs, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He could clearly see the girl. She was seven or eight at most, sitting in the center of the road with her knees pulled up to her chest. She seemed unharmed. Her nightgown wasn't torn and her ash-blonde hair was pulled back in a tidy pigtail. Rupert put down the oar. He didn't want to frighten her. "Are you alright?"

She didn't move. She didn't even flinch.

"Hello?" He called out again. Still no response. "Can I take you home? Where are your parents?"

"Dead." Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

He held out a hand. "Come with me." He'd put her in the boat and send her out onto the water. She'd be safe there.

She looked more fae than human, almost ethereal as if she didn't belong to this world. When she turned her head toward him, her expression wasn't anything that belonged on the face of a child. "I've been very naughty. I deserve a terrible spanking."

Rupert held very still. "I know you've seen terrible things, but none of them are your fault."

"Gods, Ripper. You just don't change, do you?"

Ripper? How had she know his … Good Lord. No.

She spoke again, still in the piping voice of a child. "It's not safe. Take my hand. You're like a woman, Ripper. You cry at every funeral. You don't deserve me. But guess what? You've got me." The child's voice gave way to the rough growl of a demon. "Under your skin."

Rupert stepped back. He was close enough to grab the oar but, no, he couldn't. Eyghon had taken over Randall and he'd killed it then. Eyghon had taken over this child. No, he couldn't. Not again. Not to a child.

"What's the matter, Ripper? Not man enough to take me on?"

Rupert couldn't. He couldn't beat a child to death even if Eyghon had taken her over. Rupert couldn't, but Giles could. He reached down for the oar, grabbing it tightly, both hands at the ready. "You won't get past me, demon. I've killed you before and I can do it again, no matter what form you take."

The demon rose to the child's feet. "How often do you think you can kill me? You can kill a child but can you kill your mother? Your lover? Rupert's weak. He can't stand the pain. He'll free me again."

"You won't get near him again." Giles swung the oar but didn't hit the demon. "Not if I bash you into a pulp."

Eyghon's laughter ran eerily out of the child's throat. "You can't stop me. I'm in his head. You can't reach me there, but I can reach Rupert. I can tie him up in knots. And you, you're as weak as Rupert. Can't even bring yourself to hit me."

Giles shut his eyes against the child and listened to the demon. Eyghon wasn't right but he wasn't wrong either. Giles could, probably, hit the girl but beating a child to death, even the thought made him ill, but there was another way. "I don't have to hit you," he told Eyghon. "I'm not Rupert's only guardian."

Ripper swung the oar hard and fast. It smashed against the demon's head. Blood splattered into the air, hanging like fireworks for one frozen moment. The oar swung around again. Blood streaked red in the ash-blonde hair. When it was done, Ripper dropped the oar and stepped back from the green ooze that had been a child's body. Giles stepped carefully around the gunk as he scanned the island. It was unlikely that Eyghon had left anyone alive, but Giles had to be sure. There couldn't be any witnesses.


	7. Prologue 6

Ethan opened his eyes and winced against the sunlight. "Alright," he shouted toward the door. "Just give me a moment." The pounding, it actually sounded as if the door was being kicked in, if anything grew louder. Just as he'd thrown on a t-shirt, the door flew open. The words, do you know how hard it was to get that lock on in the first place, died on his lips. Ripper stood in the doorway.

He wasn't wearing the wife-beater Ethan was used to seeing him in or even the tweed he'd donned after he'd left. The dark pullover and jeans looked good on him, but then again pretty much anything did. Ripper pulled a cigarette from his lips and blew out the smoke. "Do you know how much trouble it was to find you?"

Ethan faked a nonchalance he didn't feel, one he could never feel in Ripper's presence. "You never wanted to see me again. Why should I make it easy?"

Ripper tossed his cigarette to the floor. As Ripper's eyes raked over him, Ethan wished he'd had time to don more than a t-shirt and underwear. "Aw, you didn't have to dress just for me."

"Well, yes, perhaps if I'd known who was bashing through my door …"

Before he could finish, Ripper came at him, shoving him back, and Ethan found himself stumbling until he hit the wall. Ripper pinned him. "You're mine. Always will be. Never make me hunt you down again." Ripper's lips were on his before Ethan could reply, pushing against his hard, so hard he knew they'd bruise. He pushed back, kissing Ripper with everything he had.

Ripper had never been a gentle lover but this, it was like being held by a hurricane, like being fucked by by a tidal wave. It was almost, but not quite, too much. When Ripper shuddered and fell on him, Ethan thought that neither of them would be able to even think about moving for hours. He was wrong.

A hand landed on his face, moving about as if exploring his features. Well, if this was how it was going to be. Ethan licked along the palm of the hand. "Come on, Ripper, if you're gonna …"

Ripper pushed himself up and off of Ethan so fast that he fell backward onto the floor. "How did you get here?"

Not this again. Ethan's words were cold and sharper than he'd intended. "I live here. You came looking for me, remember?"

"No, no, I don't."

"Don't what? Want me? One good fuck and you're done?"

"Don't remember. How did I get here?"

Ethan watched as Ripper's eyes turned cold.

Ripper's arm came down on Ethan's throat, pinning him to the bed. "Get out."

"It's my flat," Ethan choked out. "You came looking for me."

Ripper scrambled to his feet, putting on the pants he'd grabbed as he'd risen from the bed. "Don't let me in again."

Ethan sat up, raising his legs and twisting his body into a ball. He raised a hand to his throat. "It's not as if I let you in this time. I don't suppose you're about to pay for the broken lock?"

Ripper grabbed his boots in one hand. "Leave London. Go someplace I'd never think to look for you."

"Damn it, Ripper, what's wrong? Tell me this time. Don't just run the fuck off again."

"Better you don't know."

"I won't stop until I've worked it out."

"Leave it, Ethan. If you want to live, leave it."

"Tell me what's going on."

"No." Ripper, his boots still in his hands, bolted out the door on bare feet.

Ethan looked out the window until Ripper appeared in the street. He looked up, saw Ethan watching, and dashed off. Ethan fell back onto the bed. What the hell had that been?


	8. Prologue 7

Rupert found himself in his flat, sitting on the couch and blowing smoke toward the window. He stared at the cigarette for a moment before dropping it into a mug on the side table. There were a half-dozen butts in the mug. He'd given up smoking months before, shortly after he'd returned to the Council. He couldn't recall smoking any of them. In fact, the last thing he remembered he'd been in London. He didn't know why he'd been there. He didn't even remember going there. He had memories of Ethan, naked and well fucked, but in a room Rupert had never seen before. He wouldn't have gone to Ethan. With Eyghon in his head, Rupert was too great a danger. He wouldn't have exposed Ethan to that danger. He wouldn't have.

The dishes from at least one meal had been left out on the table. Rupert hadn't left dishes dirty since he'd come back to the Council. Cleaning up after himself had been part of bearing the yoke again. In fact, the only time Rupert had left the dishes out … Rupert dropped to a chair. First Ethan and now this. What the hell?

Across the far side of the table he saw a newspaper with his glasses planted firmly in the center. He absentmindedly rubbed the glasses before putting them on. There didn't seem to be anything unusual in the paper. No, wait. The date. This was the Sunday paper. It couldn't be. Just last night had been Friday. Rupert looked at the date again. It hadn't changed.

It couldn't be. He'd lost a whole day. How had he lost a whole day?

No explanations were forthcoming. Rupert let the problem mull in the back of his mind as he washed up the dishes and fixed himself tea. Losing a day, he had no idea what to do with that. Rupert took his tea to his desk. He'd already been behind on his studies. That at least he could work at.

He was fully engrossed in his paper, Dark Lords: A Study of Near Eastern Religions and the Appropriation of Power by Krnashath Demons, when the doorbell rang. Damn, just as the work was getting interesting. Rupert popped his head out the window to see if he could get rid of the annoyance quickly. Or not. "Ethan?"

"Hello, Ripper."

Rupert stared. Ethan. Of course. Ethan had been in London. Ethan had stolen the day from him. He grabbed Ethan, dragged him into the house, and threw him against the wall.

"Oh, this is better, although you should shut the door. Unless you do want to give the neighbors a show that is."

Rupert pressed his forearm against Ethan's throat. "What the hell did you do?"

"You'll have to be more specific. I've done so many things."

Rupert pressed down harder with his arm.

"Ripper," Ethan choked. "Please. Can't. Breathe."

Rupert loosened the arm until Ethan started gasping for breath. "I lost a day. What did you do?"

Grief ran like a shadow across Ethan's face. "Yesterday then, I take it. I should have known better."

"Better than to mess with me? Yes, you should have."

Ethan grabbed Rupert's forearm with both hands and pulled down. Rupert let the arm drop. "Better as in nothing with you can be that simple. You came to me, Ripper. Whatever happened, I didn't do it."

But that meant … Eyghon. No. The demon could force hallucinations on him but it couldn't steal his memories. It couldn't force him to lose time. Rupert shrank back.

Giles stepped forward and punched a shot straight into Ethan's gut. As Ethan fell forward, Giles struck his elbow across the side of Ethan's face. Then he backed off. Rupert cared about the git. Giles couldn't hurt him too much. "Get out. Leave London. Don't look back."

Ethan pressed a hand to his jaw and winced but held his ground. "Something's wrong. Tell me what."

Giles shoved him out the door and looked down on at Ethan sprawled on the sidewalk. "If I ever see your face again, I'll break every bone in your body."

_I'll break him._

Oh bloody wonderful. Eyghon had woken up. Giles slammed the door shut on Ethan.

_He'll die screaming._

"If you hadn't noticed," Giles said, "I don't particularly care."

_Rupert does._

"I can keep you from Rupert."

_No. You can't._

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you want?"

_Give me the Slayers._

Giles closed his eyes and let his head bang against the wall. "I'm a student. I don't have access to a Slayer." Images of Ethan, broken and dying, flashed across his mind.

_He'll see this. Every time you let him out, he'll see this._

Meaning Rupert would see the images. Eyghon would force them on him. Giles thought it through. Rupert's duty was to guide a Slayer, assuming he was given the opportunity. Giles' duty was to protect Rupert, but he couldn't keep Eyghon away from Rupert. They shared the same head. "It's possible I can get Rupert assigned to one of the Slayers."

_All of them._

Giles shook his head. "There's only one."

An image formed in Giles' mind, a weapon with a stake at one end and a blade at the other. "What is it?"

_A way to get all of them._


	9. Prologue 8

If Merrick's Slayer had been called in London, the Council would have arranged for facilities. In any of the other cities he was truly familiar with, Merrick would have rented a warehouse. In Los Angeles he found houses, and affordable ones at that, with rooms large enough to train in, however training seemed to have been taken off the agenda. He watched her from behind the curtains of the second floor window. Buffy had stopped at the bottom the walkway to the house.

Disappointment settled in his chest. Her attire was completely inappropriate. Oh, the blue jeans weren't entirely unsuited for fighting but that blouse would get her killed in a heartbeat. It might have been passable had it been buttoned up to the neck and tucked in but no, instead she'd left all the buttons undone and had tied her shirt tails together into a large knot at her waist creating more handholds for an enemy to grab onto than Merrick cared to think about.

She turned and walked away as Merrick watched, and he honestly couldn't understand why she was leaving. She'd fought off two vampires the night before. She'd been having the nightmares. She knew she'd been chosen, but it seemed she'd rather play at being a cheerleader than live up to her calling as a Slayer. He let the curtain drop. He couldn't confront her here, out on the street, but it wasn't difficult to predict where she was heading.

The bright orange of the lockers made the pale green walls look even dingier than they were. Merrick was, as usual, amazed at how unaware people could be. Neither of the two girls gossiping by their lockers noticed him as he slipped in. "Oh, hi. Wow, you're late," one of them said as Buffy came in through the doors.

Buffy waved. "I'm going to practice."

"Cool, see you later." The girls left and the door fell closed behind them. He and Buffy were alone.

Merrick waited until she'd opened her locker before stepping into view. She didn't notice him for a moment. He could have killed her in that moment if he'd been a demon. She jumped when she saw him. "What are you doing here?" She ducked behind the open door of her locker. "This is a naked place." He wasn't sure why she'd bothered to point that out, given that she was fully dressed.

"You were supposed to meet me an hour ago."

Apparently he wasn't as imposing as he'd hoped. She came back around and started rummaging through her locker. "I told you that I had practice." She threw two pom poms on top of the locker.

"And I told you to skip it." The last Slayer had been identified when she was five. He could have had a girl who'd already been trained but no, he had to make do with this American.

"Listen, I think there's been a big mistake. Alright, I mean, I appreciate that there are real vampires and that you're on this big, holy mission but obviously somebody read their tea leaves wrong 'cause I'm not your girl. I don't think I'm up to it. And just between you and me, neither do you."

Hmm, perhaps she was more perceptive than he'd first given her credit for. "It is true that you have missed years of training."

"See?"

Still that didn't mean he could go easy on her. "And you are undisciplined, frivolous."

"Don't I know it."

"You are, quite probably, the most vacuous Slayer …"

"Okay, okay," she interrupted. "I think we both get the point."

He waited. She was going to tell him to go but he could tell she wasn't entirely confident she'd made the right choice. She wanted him to convince her.

"Then I don't think there's anything more for us to say," she added.

He decided to agree. It would put her off her guard and make the demonstration that much more effective. "I guess not." He took one step away to vanish behind a row of lockers.

"Good luck and all," she called out.

Oh, yes, she did want convincing. He stepped back into view but she was staring into her locker. "There is one thing."

"What?" She looked ready to tear into him as she turned back. Aggressiveness was, of course, a positive attribute in a Slayer but it was far too easy to rile her up. He'd have to train that out of her.

"This." He gave her only one moment to identify the knife before throwing it at her.

She caught it, one handed, mere inches from her face. She hadn't moved; she hadn't even blinked. Her reflexes were quite remarkable.

He clapped once. "Bravo."

Her gaze bounced between him and the knife as he stepped toward her. "Y-you threw a knife at my head."

"Yes. I had to show you."

She gestured toward her head as she spoke as if the emphasis would tell him something new. "But … you threw a knife at my head."

"And you caught it. Only the chosen one could have caught it." That should have settled the argument. It didn't.

"Well, I don't want it."

He paused, only for a moment, to think about the Slayer he could have had, the Slayer he would have had if Buffy had been identified at a proper age, before jumping back into the fray. He would make her see that she was born to be the Slayer. It was his duty and he would not fail.


	10. Prologue 9

Twenty years of his life, spent working on three degrees and playing Council politics, had all led to this one moment. Rupert sat outside of Quentin's office. The carpet here was new and the walls free of scuff-marks, unlike the halls where the rank and file worked. Mrs. Livingston, and old gargoyle of a woman, guarded the entrance. She'd been part and parcel of the Council as far back as Rupert could recall. He amused himself thinking that she was a construct, an entity created ages ago to protect the Council Head from interlopers hoping to gain access to his time. It was highly unlikely. The Council didn't use magic for mundane purposes. At some signal that Rupert hadn't seen, she told him that he could go in.

Quentin rose from his desk at the far side of the room, but Rupert took a moment to appreciate the office. The walls were filled with fine art, many of them from the Romantic period, images of vampires and demons falling at the hands of men, but they couldn't hold his attention, not when the Council's seal lay before him. The rug's gray background was just pale enough to enhance the image of the familiar double-headed black eagle holding a pen in one golden claw and a sword in the other. Feeling the thrill of being in the Council's inner sanctum for the first time, Rupert read the motto spelled out at the edge of the rug. " Et portae inferi non praevalebunt."

"The gates of Hell shall not prevail." Quentin crossed the room to shake Rupert's hand but didn't offer his congratulations yet. He gestured toward a chair, one of two placed just past the seal. "Would you care for a drink?"

"Whisky if you have it."

Quentin handed over the drink as he sat across from Rupert. "You, of course, know why you're here."

"I would hardly dare to presume." The modesty of Rupert's words were belied by his next question. "I take it the new Slayer isn't expected to live long?"

The shake of Quentin's head was more purposeful than regretful. "Merrick doesn't expect much of her. She wasn't identified as a Potential and has no training, no discipline. He'll do his best to keep her going, of course but, no, we don't expect her to last long." Quentin sipped at his drink. "The next Slayer goes to Roderick Ashworth," he added unnecessarily. Every Watcher knew who was in waiting for the next Slayer.

"But the Slayer after Ashworth's?"

"Hopefully Ashworth's girl will be longer lived but the Council prefers to prepare for the worst-case scenario."

"Of course," Rupert agreed. "Still, I can't imagine I was a popular choice."

"I won't deny there was more than a little debate. Your early rebellion did give a number of members pause." Giles held back a snicker. Trust Quentin to refer to abandoning the Council and invoking demons with as mild a term as rebellion. Of course Quentin didn't know about Eyghon. "But a good many believe your little stint with the dark side has enhanced your qualifications, has given you a better idea of what you'll be facing. They brought the others around."

_They damned well better have_, Giles thought. The bribes he'd paid out had been more than he'd expected, personal favors rather than money, but those favors had cost him.


	11. Prologue 10

In its heyday the building, abandoned now, had been an asylum, a dumping ground for the unwanted: the insane, the old, and the merely inconvenient. The gray stone of the walls was made even dingier by the scraps of white paint that hadn't completely peeled away. The upper levels had contained suites where the wealthier clients had been locked away in relative comfort. The poverty stricken unwanted, some of them lunatics but some of them merely unlucky, had been locked in cages in the basement. The stone was thick and there weren't even windows to let light in. It suited Giles' needs perfectly.

When Rupert had invoked Eyghon, he'd called the demon into an acquaintance, into someone who could be tied back to him. Giles wasn't about to make the same mistake. He'd sent Ripper out to bring back a couple of drifters, men who wouldn't be missed. It didn't matter whom they were as long as they both remained unconscious.

Ripper had left both men outside the cage. By the light of the KingCamp lantern, Rupert chose to leave the lanky, middle-aged man where Ripper had dumped him. The older man, whose untamed graying beard fell halfway down his chest, was shorter than the other but hefty enough that dragging him into the cage was something of a chore. Branding him with Eyghon's mark was simple in comparison and took little time. Giles closed the cage door, locking the man in before chanting the spell to invoke Eyghon. As the demon stood and stretched his arms out to the side, Giles watched and wondered if he's succeeded.

Eyghon threw himself against the cage. The bars held. "What is this?"

"I can't have you jumping bodies and rampaging about London. The Council would track you down and then they'd connect you to me. You'd never gain access to the Slayer line." Part of the experiment had worked. Even with Eyghon's access to his mind, Giles had kept his plans hidden from the demon.

Eyghon's body fell to the ground and dissolved into a pile of green goo. Interesting. Nothing in Giles' research had suggested the demon could break his tie to a body at will. Giles moved closer to the edge of the room. If Eyghon got free of the cage, the door would contain the demon.

The goo spread out toward the second body. Giles waited. Eyghon did not rise again.

_What did you do?_

"I told you. I can't afford to allow you to jump bodies. It's to your best interests as well."

Giles fell to the floor as knives stabbed in just behind his eyeballs. He clutched at his head, more in a vain attempt to stop the pain than to confirm there were no knives. The solitary lantern, which had lit the room dimly up until then, became so bright that it hurt Giles even even through his closed eyes. Curled up on the floor, he clenched at his head, not moving because moving brought more pain, until a blessed darkness took him.


	12. Prologue 11

The walls were screaming in a thousand voices all telling her to get out. Liz stood with her back to the heavy stone walls with her eyes turned toward the door. She shouldn't of followed but the bad man, he'd beat up Doc and then he'd beat up Billy and he'd left their bags as if they wouldn't need them anymore. She couldn't of gone for help. They'd have been gone, vanished, by the time she'd come back, and that was only if she could of gotten help at all. She heard a scream, louder than the thousand voices. Risking a peek back into the dungeon, she saw the monster stabbing knives into the bad man's head but the monster was in his head now. It had been in Doc before but Doc was gone. Billy was still there though, past the bad man, at the far end of the room.

The bad man had stopped screaming. Even the inside of his head was silent. Maybe he was faking. The walls were still shrieking, "Get out! Get out! Get out!" She stepped into the dungeon. The bad man didn't move. She took another step forward, watching him carefully. The bad man still wasn't moving, but as she inched forward she went far around him. She didn't want him between her and the door but she couldn't leave Billy there. She inched past the bad man and then scuttled backward, keeping her eyes on the bad man the whole time. He still wasn't moving. She shook Billy. He wasn't moving either. The room was screaming at her to get out, that it wasn't just her life on the line. The bad man was the boogey man, the candy man, the devil himself and he'd steal her soul if he got her. Oh, this was bad, bad, bad. She grabbed Billy by the arms and started dragging him toward the door.


	13. Prologue 12

Rupert woke to cement and stone, cement underneath him and stone walls around him. The only light came from a camping lantern. He could see that his pants were of a very fine weave, finer than anything he usually wore and he could feel the scratch of a turtleneck against his skin. Rupert sighed. When he'd first found the clothes sitting out in the open toward the front of his closet, clothes that weren't his, clothes that fit him to a T, he'd taken to throwing them away. He'd even burned a set on one memorable occasion. It had been a futile gesture. New clothes had appeared, clothes that had been billed to him. They served as a reminder that Eyghon could mess with him at will. Rupert had chosen to ignore them as best he could.

_Release me!_

And as if on cue, the demon spoke up, the Hyde to his Jekyll. Rupert didn't know how the demon could erase his memories – nothing in the literature suggested such a thing was possible – but he'd never been called in by either the Council or the police. Whatever he'd missed, it couldn't be too horrific. Eyghon wasn't one for subtlety. He would have left a trail a mile wide if he'd done any damage whatsoever.

_Release me!_

The voice brought back memories of blinding pain, Rupert held his hands to his head, shutting his eyes against pain more imagined than real. Giles, opening his eyes, dropped his hands back down to his sides. The second drifter, the one he'd left outside the cage, was gone. Escaped. Giles cursed the demon.

_Release me!_

"I will," he told the demon, "but now I need to think." He'd have to let Ripper hunt the drifter down, but that could wait. First he needed to vanish before any cops showed up. Then Ripper could have his fun, and after that … "I will let you free, on one condition."

Giles felt pain welling in the back of his head. _There will be no conditions._

"There will be," Giles replied. "I've found no information on this Scythe of yours in the Council texts. If I'm going to learn anything, I'll need access to the Slayer but there's a Watcher in the queue ahead of me. The next Slayer is his if he's alive. I need you to kill him."

The chuckling in Giles' mind was assent enough.

"His name is Ashworth, Roderick Travers Ashworth." Giles brought the image to mind, an older man, one who'd sported a walrus mustache ever since he'd been assigned to India as a youth. Roderick was a year or two older than his cousin Quentin, balding where Quentin had a full head of hair, but getting slightly chubby, just as Quentin was, from sitting at a desk all day. "I'll set it up. You'll be released near his London home."

_And then I kill._

Giles knew better than to ask Eyghon to stop at one death. Limiting Eyghon to one body would limit the damage. His human form could only last so long. With any luck he'd have dissolved back to the ethereal plane before the Council found his trail.

_And then?_

"After Ashworth is dead?" Giles felt more than heard the demon's assent. "Then I ensure that a new Slayer is called."


	14. Prologue 13

Quentin remained seated at his desk, putting his pen down reluctantly as Cecil entered the room. He'd rather considered not giving the lad the time of day but Cecil had been rife with wild conspiracy theories ever since Roderick's death. Perhaps it was time to have a quiet chat with cousin Antonia about her son's behavior. A certain amount of grief could be tolerated but when one started ranting like a common street preacher, well, that was simply taking things too far. "Cecil, what is it that can't wait until the next meeting of the Council?"

At the center of the room, three feet out from Quentin's desk, the Seal of the Council was depicted on a rug. It was ignored for the most part, except for the more ritualistic Council traditions. Cecil walked up to the rug and bowed. Oh Good Lord, he wasn't about to … . And then Cecil Dabney Ashworth stepped onto the center of the rug, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, "Our son has lifted his heel against us. I accuse Rupert Edmund Giles of betraying our brotherhood. He has murdered my uncle and your cousin Roderick Travers Ashworth."

Quentin considered stabbing his letter opener through the young fool's heart, but no, Antonia would never forgive him. At least the imbecile had invoked the ritual when they were alone. If there had been witnesses Quentin would have had no choice but to act.

A worried frown crossed Cecil's face as Quentin stepped around the desk, violating the ritual. Quentin yanked him off the rug. This had to be nipped in the bud and quickly. Rupert Giles had far too many allies for a member of Quentin's own family to be seen leading an attack against him. "If the family were not in mourning, I would have you debarred from the Council. As it is you are taking a leave of absence, a year and a day, in honor of the deceased. You will spend this time indexing the demonology texts in the Ashworth family library. The resulting document will be dedicated to Roderick."

"But Giles killed him. Honor demands …"

"Honor?" Quentin slapped him. "Your honor belongs to the Council. Your duty is to the Council. The deaths have been investigated. Some young fool invoked a demon for fun. He paid the price, as did a number of others."

"Cui bono," Cecil said.

"What?"

"Who benefits."

Quentin wished he'd slapped Cecil harder. "I know what it means, you fool."

"Rupert Giles benefits from uncle's death. He is now next in line for a Slayer."

"He was already in the queue. All he had to do was be patient. Miss Summers can't last much longer. Roderick's Slayer might have been one of the longer lived ones, but that doesn't matter. Being a Watcher is a burden, not a picnic in the park."

"The man isn't what you think he is," Cecil said. "He's ruthless. He's …"

"Enough." Of course he's ruthless, Quentin thought. You don't get assigned to a Slayer if you aren't ruthless. "A year and a day, Cecil. I expect to be obeyed. In fact, I'm driving you to the manor myself this evening." He would speak with Antonia that night and in person. The boy was getting out of hand. Even grief didn't excuse such behavior. Attacking Rupert Giles. Quentin felt himself shudder. Did the idiot want to ruin the family's good name?


	15. Prologue 14

The church had been deconsecrated so long ago that even the Council had forgotten its ancient purpose and the secret passage that provided access into the sacristy. Rupert, finding an interesting reference in an ancient tome, had worked out the history of this place. Giles stood in the passage just outside the sacristy. He could hear the vampires. By their undisciplined chattering, they had to be minions. He'd have to step into the church to learn if their master had accepted his invitation.

The cross had long since been removed from the apse but still the vampires waited below in the nave. They stood grouped together like a pack of animals and not at all like a disciplined fighting team. Once Giles stepped into view, one strode through them, heading straight for Giles, but stopped at the end of the nave. His hair, long enough to hang down to his shoulders, was unkempt and wild as if he were trying to project the image of a feral beast. Taking in what was almost certainly a red velvet shirt under the leather jacket, Giles suppressed a shudder and ran a thumb over his own jacket, grounding himself in the silky feel of the vicuna. The vampire raised one arm out in a grand gesture. "My master awaits. Will you not come?"

Giles grinned. "I do believe I'd prefer it if he came to me."

The vampires growled in response. Giles knew they couldn't approach, that they were kept back by an ancient warding. Giles had strengthened the spell himself before sending out the invitation.

Based on ancient descriptions, the vampire before him could have only one name. "Amilyn, call your master or we are done here."

"And why should he come to your beckoning?"

"Perhaps he's curious?"

"Perhaps he is." The minions stepped back, fading into the darkness, as another vampire stepped forward. Giles recognized the face from an old sketch, one that was surprisingly accurate. The black greatcoat swelled dramatically as Lothos raised his arms and bowed. "A parley and after so many centuries." He scanned the apse. "And you came alone, Mr. Giles. How unusual. Don't you, as your predecessors did, fear your petty magic will fail you at a crucial moment?"

"Not particularly."

"Or perhaps your associates aren't aware of our meeting."

"If you aren't interested in what I have to say." Giles let the rest of the sentence hang unspoken.

"I'm here, aren't I? What paltry offering are you planning to serve?"

"The Slayer."

Lothos grinned. "And what would I want with your toy doll?"

"For centuries you were the only vampire to have killed two Slayers." Lothos' face darkened. "I don't have to continue, now do I."

"Why would the Council's dog give me the Slayer?"

"My reasons are my own. Do you want her or should I meet with Spike?"

Lothos studied him as if looking for the trap. "Tell me."

"She's in California, Los Angeles to be specific."

Lothos turned with a dramatic flourish of his greatcoat. The minions scrambled after.

"That went about as well as could be expected." It shouldn't take long for Lothos to kill the girl. She was untrained after all.

_The Slayers will be mine._

"There's a further need for patience," Giles replied to Eyghon. "Only with this Scythe of yours, which I still don't know how to locate, can we tie your essence to the Slayer line. Only then will the Slayers, each and every one called, be yours."

Giles hid his thoughts from Eyghon. _And only then can I die and have peace._


	16. Welcome to the Harvest 0

**Note**: As a reminder, his mental connection to Eyghon has caused a break in Giles' psyche. He has multiple personalities: Rupert, Giles, and Ripper.

**Note**: ab ovo usque ad mala translates to "From the egg to the apples" meaning everything, the full meal.

Rupert hadn't expected the delivery. "That's twenty percent tip. Special delivery to the library. You agreed on the phone." He didn't remember calling but handed over another five just the same and waited until he was alone to glance down at the menu. Gourmet Thai. He'd noted the dive when he'd driven through town to orient himself the previous night. It hadn't appeared to be worth even one Michelin star, and yet here was the bag, heavy in his hand. Giles sighed and hoped the food wasn't too terribly atrocious.

Based on the weight and bulk of the bag, it held food enough for two, which was disconcerting. If he hadn't been expecting company, why order so much? Well, that would resolve itself. He'd already decided to eat at the library's main table. It was large enough and it didn't seem to be used, ever, by the students, at least based on the dearth of youngsters he'd seen that morning. There had only been his Slayer, and she hadn't stayed long. He put that thought away. Lunch first, and then he could decide how to handle his recalcitrant Slayer.

As Rupert opened the first container, the scent of pork satay wafted up. He stood, holding the container in both hands, and inhaled. Gods that smelled good, much better than he would have expected to come out of that little hole in the wall. When he'd opened all the containers, he had a full meal spread out on the table, ab ovo usque ad mala if by egg one meant a shredded crab salad and by apple one meant sticky rice with mangoes. The meal featured a red curry with roasted duck and pineapple. Rupert didn't bother resisting the temptation to taste. He picked a bit of duck up between two fingers and popped it in his mouth. He closed his eyes as the taste hit his tongue. Some moments were too sacred to profane with visions of the mundane.

It was, though, more food than he could eat alone. He'd been right about that. He wondered, briefly, if he should expect company but didn't let the thought bother him. He had enough to worry about with his Slayer … No, he would think about that later.

He'd have preferred a more elegant place setting but paper plates and bowls did provide a convenience that a more formal setting definitely lacked. At least the napkins were real cloth and not some flimsy imitation.

The satay was exquisite, almost as good as he could get in London. Rupert, eyes closed, was delighting in the flavor when he heard a small noise. He looked over to see a girl, a student, standing by the door. Gods, nothing all morning and now, when he was trying to enjoy his lunch, a student had to barge in. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"I am! I mean, I was, well not at class but at lunch, but Jesse was going on and on about Cordelia and Xander was being all the gang's all here with the 'Cordelia is hot even if she's mean' talk and I … sometimes I come and sit here, in the library that is, during lunch which you'd know if you were the regular librarian, I mean not that you aren't because you're probably the new guy, I guess, since our old librarian disappeared."

Rupert hadn't, quite, followed all of that but he wasn't about to turn away the first – and possibly only – student in this benighted school who actually wanted to spend time in the library. "Ah, I see." He gestured at the table. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

"But you're eating. I don't want to be a bother."

With a sense of regret for his abrupt words, Rupert tried to make amends. "No trouble. This is your library after all. Unfortunately there's no assistant to take my place during lunch. Principal Flutie was apologetic about my lack of break – there were some legal concerns – but I honestly would rather eat here than in, say, the school cafeteria." Rupert glanced at the clock and saw that only ten minutes had passed since the bell. "And I'm rambling on. Please do forgive me. I'm guessing you haven't eaten? I seem to have ordered more than I can eat. Would you care to join me?"

"Well, I did leave my lunch out, uh …" She may have misplaced her lunch but, given the heft of her bag, that same carelessness didn't apply to her books. He may very well have found a kindred soul. "I couldn't …"

"Please." Rupert retrieved another place setting. "It would be pleasant to have company. The library does not seem to be a popular, ah I believe the term is hang out?"

"A lot of students are wigged by the library, uh, I mean it makes them uncomfortable, but I love it though." As she sat down across from him, Rupert saw a flash of light, almost visible and almost not, a shifting of rainbow colors rather like that of an oil slick on water.

As Rupert lost track of her words, Giles dropped the paper plate onto the table. He sank, easily after years of practice, into a light trance. Looking at the girl, Giles let his vision go wide. A nimbus shone around her, a halo that glowed brighter and brighter until Giles had to raise an arm to shield his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Gods, did this child honestly have that much power? Giles brushed a hand over his hair as if he'd meant to neaten it all along. "Ah, I've been shelving books all morning and it just occurred to me I might not be presentable for company. You were saying?" Looking down at the two place settings, he added a third.

"Saying?"

"About the library."

"Oh, pretty much what I'd said. Other kids don't like the vibes or something."

Did that mean the library repelled other students but drew this girl to it? What could do such a thing? Giles nodded and gestured toward the containers in a help yourself motion. While she was busy with the food, he weakened his shields, allowing himself to feel the energy around them. Gods, the floor was almost humming with demonic power.

Before he could think through what that might mean, the library door swung open. "Well Rupert, I hope the food's …"

"Hey Miss Mansfield," the girl said.

"Willow." Kris had paused just this side of the doors. Damn but she had terrible timing. He'd invited her to lunch on a whim, one he was beginning to regret. She'd been flirting with him but Rupert, the git, had been ignoring her. Honestly, if he left it up to Rupert, he wouldn't have a sex life at all. He'd thought it would be amusing to watch Rupert flummox about when she showed up unexpectedly but instead it was Giles who was caught off guard. Still she was a delightful distraction. While she was shorter than Giles' usual, she was quite curvacious, so much so that she'd be too plump for even a second look in about a decade but for now it looked good on her. Her hair, a brighter red than Willow's, wasn't quite a shade found in nature. Her clothes suggested she shopped at Mayfairs or whatever these bloody Colonials thought was up to par in its place. Granted she probably shopped at the discount rack on a secretary's wage, but she did what she could to keep up appearances. It was a quality Giles appreciated.

"Kris, I hope you don't mind. I asked …" He turned to the girl. "We haven't been properly introduced. Apparently you're Willow. I'm Mr. Giles." He didn't give her his first name. It wouldn't do to be too informal with the students while Kris was watching.

"Willow, yeah, I mean, that's me." She looked like a rabbit caught by headlights. "But I should go." She'd bolted out the door before he could call her back.

"You invited a student to join us?" Kris didn't move from the door.

Willow hadn't touched her food but Kris wouldn't appreciate eating food the girl had served for herself. Giles tossed the plate and bowl. "Do you know how few students actually use the library? I wasn't about to encourage her to leave, not when she'd given up her lunch period to come here."

Kris' shrug conceded the point but as she approached the table she noted the dent he'd made in his satay. Giles suppressed a sigh. He'd been so looking forward to watching Rupert squirm under her glare. "I'm afraid I started without you. Missed breakfast. You'll have to suggest a few more restaurants. You were right. This one is delightful."

As he gestured toward a chair, Giles thought about the demonic energy. A Hellmouth. It had to be. He looked over as Kris started speaking. She hadn't taken the seat he'd offered. "Recommend more restaurants? Why? Do you want to invite other students to join us for lunch?"

"Ah, no, I was thinking of, um, dinner. Friday perhaps. We could make a night of it. Just the two of us, I promise."

As she smiled, shaking her head slightly as if she couldn't quite believe his audacity, Giles stepped around the table to pull out her chair. It's a bit of a trick, holding the chair, one that impresses the hell out of women whose class isn't quite up to his own. She was, as he'd expected, suitable impressed. The lunch was going so well that he should have expected disaster but, still, he was caught unawares when Buffy barged through the door. "Okay, what's the sitch?"

Buffy's forward momentum brought her halfway across the room before she stopped. Obviously a student. Obviously more familiar than she should be. "Ah, Miss Summers," he said as he rose to his feet. "I'm afraid I misplaced the list naming the textbooks you required. If you could perhaps write them down for me again I'd be happy to pull them for you."

He pulled her over to the book checkout counter and smiled back at Kris as he handed Buffy a pen and paper. "Are you hitting on the principal's secretary?" Buffy sounded disgusted.

"Is there some purpose to your visit or are you merely here to ruin my afternoon?"

"Body. Girls locker room. Holes in his neck."

"Are you saying there was a vampire attack, here in the school?"

"Yes." She glanced back at Kris who was obviously beginning to suspect something odd was going on. "I can't talk about it with her here."

"Well I can't get rid of her," Giles hissed back. "After Willow's visit, she's already suspicious."

"Huh?"

"Look, just come back next period. She'll be back at the office by then."

"I have class!"

"Buffy, vampires are more important …"

"Nuh uh, if you can't talk because you're on a date, I'm not missing class."

"Fine." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "After school then."

"Don't forget about your date." The Slayer's tone didn't hold even an ounce of respect but he could scarcely admonish her with Kris in the room.

"Don t you forget our appointment," he called back. She was almost to the door when she raised her hand in a half-wave, whatever that was supposed to mean.

"I ah …" He turned to find Kris skimming book titles. As Bob's assistant, she must have been aware of the occult nature of his collection. The permissions had gone through the principal's office after all. The agreement had somehow warped into the idea that he would teach a class on the worldview that had allowed people to believe in demons and witches. Fortunately none of the other instructors were willing to cover the library while he was in a classroom and so the idea had been discarded. "I apologize," he said, gesturing toward the doors which had already swung shut.

Giles felt unexpectedly lighter as Kris turned from the books. "I've read her file."

"I beg your pardon?"

"From her previous high-school. She's …" Kris shook her head. "I can't go into details, but that girl is bad news. I hope she doesn't give you too much trouble."

Ah, good, at least she didn't think he was kidnapping the girl and hauling her off to Tribulation or some such nonsense, but of course she didn't. Such victims weren't dragged into sex clubs, or even S&M clubs, at least not public ones. They were taken into the home or some other secured and private location. But all that was beside the point. Watchers, working so closely with teenage girls, had to avoid even the appearance of impropriety. That sort of rumor, once it started making the rounds, was almost impossible to squelch. "I believe I can handle her."


	17. Welcome to the Harvest 1

Giles' office was empty outside of the furniture that had come with it and the boxes he was about to unpack. He'd had to box up the previous librarian's belongings himself. Nobody had come for them yet which suggested nobody was going to. He'd stored them in the cage for the time being.

The first box he opened held the brass statue of Vishnu. It was wrapped to protect it during shipping, but the silhouette was unmistakable. Pulling away the wrapping revealed the image of Vishnu encircled by flames and dancing on a coiled serpent. The image, too popular now to serve such a purpose, had once been used to identify Watchers because Vishnu, manifesting in avatars across various ages to save humanity for demons, stood within the Council as a representation of the Slayer.

Coming from the library's main room, he could hear a scraping, rather like the sound of a table being shoved across the floor. He stepped out to find the table askew, confirming his suspicion, and three boys shoving a fourth into the card catalog. "What do you think you're doing?"

One, a big bruiser of a lad, put his arm around the skinny one – all lean angles and dark hair – they'd been shoving about. "We're just messing around, having fun. No problemo sir."

Another, just as big as the first but with darker hair and an attitude, sneered as he spoke. "What's it to you, old man?"

Giles gave them one of Ripper's grins, the one that said I'd like nothing better than to tear you to pieces … slowly. The three boys ran, leaving the fourth behind. He looked as if he'd like to sneer himself but was too cautious to try it. He stammered as he spoke. "I just, I need a book … for my English class."

The boy's bloody nose gave lie to his words, but it wasn't Giles' concern. "Of course, Mr.?"

"Wells. Uh, Tucker Wells."

Giles waited until Tucker had vanished into the stacks before turning his attention back to work. There was much yet to be done. He'd filed his books away but still had to update the card catalog. By the time the next bell rang, Giles had forgotten about the boy. It gave him a bit of a start, seeing the boy emerge from the stacks. The boy seemed startled as well and as he left, presumably for his next class, he gave Giles an odd look.


	18. Welcome to the Harvest 2

As the sun set, Giles lit a fire, more for the atmosphere than from a sense of chill. It didn't get cold here in California or at least what they considered cold was nothing compared to the chill of England. He dropped onto his couch, leather and the most comfortable Sunnydale had to offer, and sipped at his Armagnac as he considered how he should start his Watcher's Journal. An accurate assessment of how Merrick had mismanaged the Slayer would be considered bad form. It would appear that he, expecting to fail, had chosen to lay the blame at her previous Watcher's feet.

Still, the man had definitely mismanaged the Slayer. Giles could still hear her words ringing out, tolling like a death knell. "Prepare me for what? For getting kicked out of school? For losing all of my friends? For having to spend all of my time fighting for my life and never getting to tell anyone because I might endanger them? Go ahead! Prepare me."

The crackling fire drew Giles' gaze, distracting him from the Slayer's words. He'd meant for Lothos to kill the Slayer but instead the vampire had killed Merrick. The death had stirred up the Council like a fox stirred up the chickens in a hen house. Not one of them was comfortable with the reminder that the Watcher's field position wasn't a safe one. Still the situation had advantages. Merrick hadn't maintained his detachment. The younger Watchers tended to worship those Watchers who'd trained a Slayer. If Merrick had survived and returned to the Council, he would have been a corrupting influence on the next generation of Watchers. Giles put the Journal away. Merrick had already corrupted the Slayer, but that couldn't be allowed to stand. A proper Watcher did not allow his Slayer to reject her duty. He would find Buffy and he would convince her. Buffy would start Slaying again and the question of Merrick's incompetence would become moot.

Sunnydale's scene did include some interesting clubs but Buffy's youth would prevent her from gaining access. Hell, most of them wouldn't even open the door to her. Giles imagined that her idea of nightlife was rather tame. He'd probably find her at the Bronze.

As the music hit him, Giles stumbled back a step and half-fell against a wall. Noises were louder in his ears than they once had been. His vision had improved as well. These were recent changes, presumably a result of his connection to Eyghon. These changes should be impossible. All of the literature stated that domination, a non-physical connection, could not cause the physical transformation of a human host. Giles could only conclude that the Council had only ever captured a host whose domination had been of short duration. It made sense actually. The longer the connection existed, the better the host would become at avoiding detection.

"A guy with a sense of style at the Bronze? Hell must have frozen over."

Giles turned and allowed his gaze to censure the speaker. Her dress left much to be desired. The fabric, while above and beyond what most teenagers would wear, didn't sit well on her frame and the color, pale blue, didn't suit her. With that complexion and dark hair, she could carry off a more vibrant shade. "I beg your pardon?" He allowed his lips to tilt up at her obvious dismay. She at least had the sense to know when she was outclassed.

"Cordelia." The name, hissed from the sideline, released the girl, Cordelia, from his gaze.

"Who invited the geezer?" But she looked back, caught his eye, and blushed as she turned away.

At the foot of the spiral staircase, he caught something about a sugar daddy but he had neither the time nor the interest to accommodate adolescent fantasies. Gazing down from the upper level, he scanned the crowd for his Slayer. He couldn't be certain she'd come but if that rebellious streak he'd seen was any indication, she'd have no difficulties finding the local hangout.

When he saw the Slayer climbing the stairs, Giles blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected her to spot him first. Of course he should have. Slayers were more primal, more physically oriented than ordinary humans. Naturally her baser instincts would give her an advantage.

"So, you like to party with the students. Isn't that kinda skanky?" Giles' heart pounded heavily in his chest, thumping faster than it should. She knew. She sensed the demon. As he parsed her words, his panic abated. She didn't know. She was accusing him of a more human sin.

His own reply was angrier than he'd intended. "Oh, right, this is me having fun. Watching … clown hair prance about is hardly my idea of a party. I'd much rather be …" Back in London, Giles had a favorite sub, not overly tall, lean, rather like Ethan had looked back in the day. He pictured the sub, bound at his feet and sucking his cock. "… at home with a cup of Bovril and a good book."

"You need a personality, stat!"

Eyghon stirred in the back of his mind like a dark Charybdis drowning Giles' calm in a sea of rage. He took a deep breath. He was in control. He would speak and the Slayer would listen. "This is a perfect breeding ground for vampire activity. It's dark, it's crowded … Besides, I knew you were likely to show up, and I have to make you understand …"

"That the Harvest is coming. I know, your friend told me."

"Harvest?" Giles grabbed onto the word that had awoken his dark demon. "Who told you this?" _Stop growling and tell me what it is._

"This … guy. Dark, gorgeous in an annoying sort of way. I figured you two were buds."

_A chance for an enemy to rise._

An enemy? _What enemy?_ Rupert felt Eyghon retreating. Damned demon. Always showing up just long enough to raise an issue and then buggering off. What had the girl said? Something about buds? "The Harvest. Did he say anything else?"

"Something about the mouth of Hell. I *really* didn't like him."

Giles dropped his head as if watching the crowd and thought quickly. Obviously the Slayer knew nothing about this Harvest. Perhaps his own books would be of some use. When he looked up, she was leaning over the railing, ignoring him. She wasn't allowed to ignore him. He stepped around her and leaned in over her shoulder, a guardian angel advising and protecting. "Look at them, throwing themselves about, completely unaware of the danger that surrounds them."

"Lucky them."

"Or perhaps you're right. Perhaps there is no trouble coming; the signs could be wrong. It's not as though you've been having the nightmares." She didn't reply. Good, he'd made his point. He waited, wielding his silence like a weapon, forcing her to speak.

"I didn't say I'd never slay another vampire. It's not like I have all these fluffy-bunny feelings for them. I'm just not gonna get way extracurricular with it. You know, if I see one, sure I'll-"

Now, while she's on the defensive. "Will you be ready? There's so much you don't know about them, about your own powers. A vampire appears to be completely normal until the feed is upon them, only then do they reveal their true demonic visage."

"You're like a textbook with arms. I know this."

"The point is, a Slayer should be able to see them anyway. Without looking, without thinking. Can you tell me if there's a vampire in this building?"

"Maybe …"

"You should know. Even through this mass and this … din, you should be able to sense them. Well, try! Reach out with your mind. You have to hone your senses, focus until the energy washes over you, until you, you feel every particle of … of …"

As Buffy scanned the ground floor, Giles questioned his approach. Training his Slayer to sense demons when he himself had a connection to … well, less than clever didn't even begin to cover it. If she sensed his connection to Eyghon, allowing her to live would be problematic at best, but he certainly couldn't kill her here. Someone would be bound to see.

"There's one."

"W-where?"

"Right there, talking to that girl."

"You don't know …" She hadn't honed but did he honestly want her to? He needed her alive but if she did manage to detect Eyghon he'd have to find a way to disable her without alerting the Council.

"Oh, please! Look at his jacket. He's got the sleeves rolled up, and the shirt! Deal with that outfit for a moment."

Ah, he could see her point. "Not all vampires will wear …" Wait. There was something about the girl. Giles, stretching out his senses, looking past the mundane, almost winced as the power flashed into his awareness. "Good Lord. Willow."

"What?" Buffy leaned over the railing. "Oh no."

Giles wanted to chase after Buffy, to help save Willow, but Eyghon obviously saw the Harvest as a threat. Giles thought of Mary, dead and buried. There was no one left for Eyghon to kill. There was no one left that Giles cared for. _Go ahead_, he thought as if egging on the demon, _take Kris. All my loves are long gone_. He chased after Buffy and found her coming back into the club. "That was quick. Well done! I take it Willow is unharmed?"

"I didn't find them."

He grabbed her by the arm, wrenching her around until they stood face-to-face. "You lost her? She could already be dead."

"She's not dead." The Slayer sounded uncertain. "I'll find her. I'll save her."

_The Harvest_. Bloody wonderful. He'd been assigned an incompetent Slayer and now Eyghon had awoken. "You'd better. Report to me in the morning, before classes."


	19. Welcome to the Harvest 3

Giles noted in passing that the high-school's parking lot was empty but his mind was on the informant, the stranger showing an interest in his Slayer. He wished he'd gotten more information. Her description – guy, dark, and gorgeous – didn't give him anything to work with. He'd have to focus on this Harvest she'd mentioned and deal with her informant later.

The lights were on in the library, but the rest of the high-school was dark. Giles grabbed a short sword out of the trunk. The halls were lit only by the light shining through the small glass windows in the library doors. It was enough to navigate by. Stopping at the door, Giles looked through the window. A boy, one of the students, that Wells lad, had his grubby paws all over one of Giles' tomes. "I suppose I should be grateful the little bugger didn't steal the text."

Light glinted off the blade as he parried in an impressive if less than lethal display. Still it did have the desired effect. The lad's chair fell over as he leaped to his feet. Giles steadied the blade, pointing it straight at the young man. "You are aware, I presume, that the library, indeed the entire school, is now closed."

The lad took a slight step toward the stairs.

"I wouldn't move if I were you, Mr. Wells. Tucker, wasn't it?" Lowering the sword to his side as he crossed the room, Giles flipped the book closed. "_Burningham's Introduction to Demonic Breeds_?"

"I was just messing with it," Tucker said.

"Messing with it." Giles tone was as dry as a glass of Albariño.

"Not messing with the book. I mean, I was, uh, just reading it. But …"

"You broke into the school library to read a demonology text at eleven in the evening on a school night. That's your idea of messing about? Think carefully on your answer. I know exactly how dry that text is."

Tucker glanced about as if trying to find a way out. Giles waited for him to speak. "Look, I know that demons are real, okay? I just hadn't seen any books on 'em until today."

"And why are you interested in demons?"

"I live in a town full of them." Interesting. According to the Council, Hellmouths induced a selective amnesia in the uninitiated, erasing any memories of demons.

"What about your friends? Are they interested in demons?" Giles watched carefully. Tucker almost winced at the word friends. So, he had none. That could be useful. "It might be better if you didn't review demonology tomes in the school library." This one might make a decent acolyte for Eyghon, but only if the Slayer shouldn't know Giles was training him. "I could teach you. Twice a week perhaps? When my other duties allow."

"What other duties?"

"Do you know any languages other than English?"

"German."

Giles pulled out a tome. "Read that." The accent was horrendous but the lad did seem to understand what he was reading. Giles added a half-dozen books to the pile. "Look for the Harvest. Related terms would include reaping, culling, gleaning, winnowing." Giles waited to see if Tucker would rebel but the lad took one look at the sword and dove into the research.

More than two hours had passed before Tucker brought the passage to Giles' attention. Giles read aloud as he translated. "On the night of the crescent moon, the first past the solstice, will come the Harvest." He turned the page, revealing an image of a wood cut, one showing a transfer of power between a demonic figure and what looked like a man. Eyghon growled in the back of Giles' mind. Yes, this was it.

"Mr. Giles?" The lad sounded apologetic. "I have to be home before my Dad gets back. The bars close at two."

It was almost a quarter of. "Of course. I'll drive you. The streets aren't safe after dark."

They were in the parking lot before Tucker spoke again. "Woah. This is yours? All the guys have been jonesing this baby."

Giles ran an appreciative hand over his Volante. The white roadster almost glowed in the dim light of the parking lot. Wincing as Tucker stroked a hand along the hood, Giles added, "Let's get you home." He made a note to check, later, for scratches.

Giles tore through the parking lot, as much to impress the lad as to please himself. They'd pulled up to Tucker's home before the lad spoke again. "You said you might teach me?"

"It's possible but I'll need to find a place where we can meet, someplace out of the way. Are there any houses that are currently empty and not close to their neighbors?"

"There are some places but they're more abandoned than empty." Giles made an encouraging noise. Abandoned would be perfect although he wasn't about to share that with Tucker. Abandoned meant nobody could track the house back to him if things went badly. "A bunch of us got stuck in one," Tucker continued, "trapped. Something is living there. I barely got out."

Giles noted what Tucker hadn't said. The friends hadn't made it out of the house. "Perfect. Bring me the address tomorrow."

Tucker leaned into the side door. "You don't want that house. Look, I'll bring you a list, other houses. Ones that aren't …" He stopped abruptly as if unable to find words to describe the horror.

"That house as well," Giles insisted. "Tomorrow."

Tucker nodded as he scrambled out of the car. Giles drove off immediately, not waiting to see Tucker enter the house. His thoughts had turned longingly toward sleep, but this Harvest was obviously too important. He returned to the library.


	20. Welcome to the Harvest 4

The thought that she might arrive late to the office made Bob anxious. Kris could tell because every morning when she slipped in just under the wire, she found him standing inside his office, anxiously glancing between her desk and the clock. She wasn't certain how he'd handle her arriving before he did, especially since it was never going to happen again.

She put her jacket and bag away before making her way to the library and tried to walk confidently so she didn't seem to be sneaking. As Bob's administrative assistant, she had every right to be here after all. The library door squeaked, just enough for her to cringe at the sound, but not enough awaken the room's unexpected occupant.

Rupert's head, shoulders, and arms were sprawled over the library's table. It looked like he'd pushed his books out of the way just enough to lay his head down before falling asleep. Noting the wrinkles in his suit, the same one he'd worn yesterday, Kris made a mental note to avoid both him and the library for the remainder of the day. She could imagine how grumpy he'd be if he found himself at a disadvantage and he was the kind to consider a wrinkled suit. She'd bet money on it.

She took off her shoes before crossing the room and watched him carefully as she picked up one of the tomes from the table. Breathing in the dusty scent of old books, Kris glanced over the familiar squiggles. As Rupert snorted and stirred in his sleep, Kris froze until he'd settled down again. She put the book back exactly as she'd found it and didn't don her shoes again until she was safely tucked away in her own office.

Rupert had been put off by her flirting. It had hurt at first, but yesterday, when she'd glanced over his books, she'd thought she might understand why, and now she was certain. A field Watcher wouldn't have time for liaisons. No wonder he'd been so discomfited when she'd found him with Willow. The girl must be his Slayer. Of course he'd also been uncomfortable around that new girl, Buffy Summers, but Buffy couldn't be the Slayer. Kris had seen the girl's record from Henley high: cutting classes, fighting, burning down a gym. The Council would never stand for that kind of behavior from one of their own.


	21. Welcome to the Harvest 5

As a sharp clacking echoed in his head, Rupert bolted up, almost exploding out of his chair. Ah, shoes, Buffy's shoes clacking against the floor. He was in the library. He'd been at home, about to start his Watcher's Journal. Damn. What had brought him to the library? Scanning the books strewn across the table, he saw the notes and glanced up sharply. Buffy wasn't alone. She'd brought Willow and some young man along. He briefly questioned the wisdom of leaving his notes out in the open. If Willow learned of demons, the fear might drive her toward an authority figure for protection. It could create a rapport between them. On the other hand, it might send her running for the hills. He pulled a book over the notes, only glancing at the title after it was in place: _On Rituals of the Undead_. Oh yes, well done. That wouldn't draw attention, not at all.

As he blinked, wondering why he wanted to create a rapport with Willow, the boy spoke. "You were asleep?"

"Xander." At least Willow had the sense to reprimand the boy, even if it was a weak censure.

"They got Jesse. Who knows what they're doing to him." Xander waved a hand towards Rupert. "This guy is supposed to help? We should go back to the cemetery."

"Xander, we've already been all over the cemetery."

Rupert glanced at his watch. Wonderful. Not even a quarter after eight and already his world was falling apart. "Would someone please fill me in?"

"Our friend was grabbed. By Vampires. Vampires!"

Rupert sank into his chair in relief. They didn't expect him to already know what they were referring to. Then the sense of the boy's words hit him. He sat back up. "Vampires?" Gods, what did these children already know?

"Relax," Buffy said. "They know I'm the Slayer."

Rupert rose to his feet, telling himself that shaking the girl senseless would only exacerbate the situation. "They know what?"

"Hey. Xander already knew and Willow was being dragged off by a vamp. You were there. You remember. Willow. Vamp. I ran off to save. Of course she knows."

Willow had been attacked by a vampire? At least Buffy seemed to have saved her, but Buffy expected him to know, which meant he'd seen her last night. "Well, now you know," he said to the other two. "Don't tell anyone. If you don't mind, Buffy and I have business to attend to."

"But we want to help," Willow said.

"They've got Jesse. We're not going anywhere."

"Jesse?" Rupert asked.

"Friend," Buffy replied.

"He was capture by vampires?" Rupert asked. "Last night? And you haven't freed him?"

"We couldn't find him."

Why the hell Merrick had sacrificed himself to save this whiny child … "And if we were discussing a lost puppy, that might be an acceptable excuse, but you left a human in the hands of demons for an entire night."

"But he could still be okay, right?" Willow asked. "I mean, there must be lots of reasons why vampires would keep someone alive."

Oh certainly, Rupert thought. Perhaps they're saving him for a mid-afternoon snack.

"Sure," Xander said. "There's probably … torture and then there's the torture."

"Xander," Buffy warned.

"Jesse's my bud. I'm not letting him …"

"He's my responsibility," Buffy interrupted. She glanced toward Rupert and looked away quickly. "I let him get taken."

Rupert sank back into his chair as the children babbled on. Buffy had accepted her responsibility. The lad, Jesse, was almost certainly dead but it wouldn't do any harm to allow Buffy to try to track him down. Perhaps a dose of reality would do her some good.

A flash of movement brought Rupert's attention back to the children. Willow had half-collapsed into a chair and Buffy was telling her to breathe. The advice seemed to be helping. When Willow had calmed down, Buffy addressed him, providing information she should have led with. "This big guy, Luke. He talked about an offering to the Master. Now, I don't know what or who, but if they weren't just feeding then Jesse may still be alive. I'm gonna find him."

An offering. It was a surprising insight coming from his Slayer, but she was correct. Vampires might keep an offering alive. Rupert thought back to what they'd said earlier. "Right. So you lost, er, last saw this Jesse in a cemetery?"

"Yeah, but I didn't see where they went."

"Keep in mind they might have gone underground," Rupert said.

"Hey, electrical tunnels …"

"Um, hello?" Gods but the students in this place had terrible timing. "I need a book? _The Call of the Wild_? Hey Xander, Willow."

"Tucker," Xander replied.

"We're busy," Rupert said. "Perhaps you could come back later?"

Willow whispered something to Buffy. "No big," Buffy announced. "We have an idea."

"An … what? You're going to need my help."

He was surprised by how quickly the children crossed the room. "I think we've got it covered," Buffy called back through the swinging doors.

Tucker held out a piece of paper. "I brought you that list."

Rupert glared at the closed door before snatching at the paper. He stared at the addresses and then at the boy. Tucker, Xander had said? "List, ah, yes." Tucker stood there dumbly as if expecting some other response. "If you don't mind," Rupert added, "I haven't had breakfast."

"Oh, okay." When Tucker paused and glanced back, Rupert made himself busy with the texts, hoping the lad would take the hint. Last night's research had been important enough that he'd fallen asleep over his books. Once the boy left, Rupert scanned the notes from the previous night: crescent moon, solstice. Gods, that was tomorrow, and he still didn't seem to know what or where. Rupert took in all the books scattered across the table. He had no idea which ones his alter ego had already searched.


	22. Welcome to the Harvest 6

Rupert felt as if his spine would never be straight again. His books weren't helping. He'd found no further information on the Harvest ritual. He knew neither its location nor its purpose. A woodcarving depicting a demonic transfer of energy didn't provide much to work with.

Tea, perhaps, would help. He'd taken only a few steps towards his office and its hotplate when Willow burst through the doors. "Um, Mr. Giles?"

Rupert glanced down at the occult tomes scattered across the table and saw, for the first time, the flaw in his librarian persona. Fortunately few students seemed to be drawn to the library. This girl knew Buffy's secret. Something told him she could be useful and, as exhausted as he was, he didn't bother to question it. "Yes, Willow?"

"I was wondering if Buffy was back. I sort of think … Xander hasn't been in any of his classes since she left. I think he followed her. It's been a couple of hours. Should it take this long?"

"Back?"

"I, uh, you know."

Damn Tucker for interrupting. No, this had nothing to do with Tucker. He should damn himself for allowing Buffy to leave. "Where did she go, Willow?"

"The tunnels?"

Rupert took one deep breath before asking. "Tunnels?"

"To look for Jesse? I think Xander followed because … well … Didn't she tell you?"

"No. What tunnels?"

"The electrical tunnels? Buffy figured out there was an entrance in the crypt."

She'd thrown herself into a vampire's lair without so much as a by your leave?

"Mr. Giles?"

"Hmmm?"

"How dangerous is it?"

A Vampire's lair? The truth would only distress the girl. "Buffy's a Slayer. I'm sure she's fine." He could see that Willow wasn't reassured. "She's had a Watcher, before me that is. She's had training. I'm sure Buffy knows what she's doing."

"Oh, that's good. What happened to her other Watcher?"

He wondered what he could ask her to do. He could throw tomes at her, let her think she was helping with the research. She wouldn't know the difference, but then his eye struck on the computer. "Perhaps you could find, or uh search for information, on that infernal machine?"

"Infernal? Oh, you mean the computer? Sure."

Giles watched from behind Rupert's eyes. He'd prompted Rupert into finding work for the girl. Now if she'd only come up with something, no matter how small, that he could expand on to make her feel as if she'd helped. If she thought she'd contributed, she might want to help again. He could work that, use it to get closer to her and all that power. "Wonderful," Rupert told her. "I do believe your assistance could be quite helpful."


	23. Welcome to the Harvest 7

Willow's scanned the Googled list. Earthquake in '37? It wasn't supernatural but maybe vampires took advantage of natural disasters. She brought up the newspaper archives, expecting she'd have to search through the articles but no, there it was, right in a headline: bloodless corpse. There'd been a murder, a teen, someone famous, an actor. Oh, he'd been her age. Willow read on. Holes in the throat. Ah! Vampires. But … wait, there were other murders. She read further, gathering evidence. Rash of murders. This could be it. "Mr. Giles?"

He looked up from his books.

"I think you should see this."

He came behind her and leaned down to read over her shoulder. He was sort of close but she supposed he'd have to be to read the screen. "I do believe you're right. Thank you, Willow. That is extremely helpful." He looked distracted. "It's all coming together. I rather wish it weren't."

"Should we, uh, go after Buffy?"

"I don't see how making ourselves vampire bait would help."

"Oh." It was a stupid idea.

"I'm sorry, Willow. I'm just … well, it's my first apocalypse and we still have no clue as to location. That is, it's due to you that we know what's happening but …"

There was a loud slam. Willow jumped up from her seat. Oh, it was only Buffy and Xander but … only Buffy and Xander, no Jesse. Maybe he had to, you know, stop and use the boy's room or something or maybe get something to eat. Vampires probably don't feed their vic … "Did you find Jesse?"

They had but they hadn't. Jesse had been changed – transformed? – into a vampire. How did that work? At the bang, Willow jumped and saw a waste basket flying away from Xander's foot. Oh God, she was a terrible person. Jesse was a vampire and she'd been wondering about how a human became one.

Mr. Giles was explaining, telling Xander and Buffy what they'd learned. He was trying to help, to stop the vampires from doing to anyone else what they'd done to Jesse. And here she was stupidly wondering how the process worked. What did it matter how humans became vampires? The point was to kill them. "We don't know where," she blurted out.

"Huh?"

"Where this." She looked at Mr. Giles for confirmation. "Ritual? We don't know where it's happening."

"There, there are a number of possibilities."

"They're goin' to the Bronze."

Xander was certain and everyone seemed to just pile on the going down at the Bronze bandwagon, but what if they were wrong? They didn't have any other ideas though. Willow hoped they were right and Willow hoped they were wrong. She sort of didn't want to ever meet another vampire.

Xander had been right. It was surprising, how quickly Mr. Giles could pick a lock. She wondered if he'd teach her, but no, he was using his skills for good. She'd probably do something wrong with hers like … Well, okay, she didn't know any locks she wanted picked but once she found one …

The door was open. They were going in.

Buffy was up on the stage, fighting some big guy, well vampire. People were mostly standing still as if the shock had frozen them. Willow could get that. She felt sort of frozeny herself. Mr. Giles leaped into action, staking a vampire before it had even seen them and Xander was urging people to get out the door. Willow stepped forward to help Xander. They had to get these people out.

After they'd moved out the crowd closest to the door, she and Xander split up. It was faster, they could get more people out that way, but she didn't like losing sight of him. She tapped at a shoulder but then the girl turned and she wasn't human. Willow heard herself squeak as the vampire grabbed her. This was it. She was never going to get to share smoochies or tell Xander how she felt … But then Mr. Giles was there and he wasn't really looking like himself. He looked younger somehow and he pulled the vampire off of her. "Buzz off, mate. The bird's with me."

The vampire turned to dust but then there was another one and it jumped on Mr. Giles and knocked him to the ground. Willow scrambled through her bag and found the jar of Holy Water that Buffy had given her. Oh God, the vampire was almost biting Mr. Giles. "Get off of him!" She threw the Holy Water and the vampire screamed and ran off.

Then she held out her hand and Mr. Giles took it and she was the one to help him up. He brushed a lock of her hair away from her face, and all thoughts of should it be vampiress if the demon was a female fled from her mind. "Are you alright?"

Oh, his eyes were so green, or no, not really. The one was green but the other more of a greenish brown. It must be the lights. They were beautiful though, his eyes.

"Willow, are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah."

She looked around. The club was empty. "Did we win?"

"Well," Buffy said as she walked up, "We averted the apocalypse. I'll give us points for that."

"One thing's for sure," Xander added. "Nothing will ever be the same again."

Willow's gaze followed Mr. Giles. He was even walking differently. His stroll had a looser feel to it than it had earlier. He was probably a lot younger than she'd first thought, and even if he wasn't, younger that is, he was young at heart and that's what counted, right?

They stepped out of the Bronze and even in this alley the stars looked brighter than they ever had. Xander was right. Nothing was ever going to be the same.


	24. Welcome to the Harvest 8

Giles waited as Buffy climbed in through a window, presumably belonging to her bedroom, before pulling away from the curb. Willow, sitting beside him, kept glancing back at Xander. The lad had been staring off at nothing, only coming alive for direct questions, ever since they'd pulled away from the Bronze. The club hadn't been that bad and yet the lad was an emotional wreck. It was pathetic, truly pathetic. Willow hadn't turned into a whining heap. In fact she was jabbering away a mile a minute. "… and I really wish there was something I could do to help."

"Believe me, you did help."

"Huh? Oh, you mean back there in the Bronze? I didn't do that much. I mean, okay, I did sort of get the vampiress … vampire? Do female vampires get a different name?"

"Ah, no, vampire is the correct term for either gender. It's not as if they're human after all. But when I said you'd helped, I wasn't referring to the Bronze although I do thank you for saving my life."

Even in the dim light of the car he could see her blush. "Oh, but I didn't do much. I mean, I had the Holy Water and I threw it."

"You kept your head in a deadly situation. Not everyone can."

"Oh." Her smile was small but definitely there. Good.

"I am grateful, but when I said that you'd helped I was referring to your research, identifying the earthquake and the vampire attacks. Well done."

"Oh, um, well, thanks."

A quick glance told him Xander wasn't paying attention. "If you truly wanted to help, but no, perhaps not."

"What? What do you mean perhaps not?"

"It's … you have other priorities, a social life. I shouldn't ask." Come on, little fishy, take the bait.

"But you said I'd helped with the Holy Water and the research. I could help again. I want to help again."

"I wouldn't want you to fall behind in your schoolwork but I do believe you might have an aptitude for magic."

"Magic?"

"Vampires are real, why not magic?"

"Yes but magic? That's like something out of a story. I mean, yeah, vampires, definitely out of a story, but, well, I've seen vampires."

"I assure you, magic is quite real. I will understand if you aren't interested. It can be a demanding field of study."

"No, no, I'm interested and I won't fall behind. I'm top of my class. Well, okay, there are a couple of guys ahead of me, but I could definitely keep up with my schoolwork and learn magic."

Giles pinched his lips into a thin line as if he didn't quite approve. "Well, I suppose we could try, but only as long as you keep your grades up."

"I will. You'll see."

"Do you have a free period during the day? I wouldn't want to teach you while I'm training Buffy. Too much distraction."

"I can get out of computers. I already know everything Miss Calendar is teaching."

"Tomorrow then?"

"Um, oh, yeah, tomorrow's good."

Giles grinned, pleased at her response. Her eyes were almost sparkling at the thought of learning magic.


	25. Welcome to the Harvest 9

The stucco walls were so pale against the night sky that they almost glowed with a life of their own. With the arched doorway behind him, Giles walked through dark halls, passing rooms whose abandoned air suggested that light and friendship had not touched them in ages. The interior courtyard, open to the sky and lit by moonlight, was overgrown but tameable. Giles had yet to detect the demon that had spooked Tucker. It was possible the lad had invented the creature, but that seemed unlikely. His terror had been too convincing. Giles tightened the grip on his sword.

The house was silent outside of the creaking floorboards underneath his feet. No mice scuttled behind the walls. No owls hooted outside the windows. He felt as if the house was listening to him, watching him, as he made his way through it. The wail, as weak as it was, sounded as loudly as a siren against that silence. The sound wrenched at his heart. An infant abandoned here? It was a feint, an illusion, he knew that but he had to force himself to stillness all the same.

The wail died abruptly as if cut short. Giles knew, with a certainty so deep he didn't even question it, that some thing had stolen the child's breath away. This was the demon Tucker had spoken of. Giles had to stop it before it killed again. Giles had to save the child.

He tried to rush forward but his limbs wouldn't obey. He couldn't move. He was trapped. The demon, it must be the demon. He struggled to turn his head, to see it coming.

"Keep still you bloody berk."

The words had come from his own mouth but he hadn't spoken. It couldn't be Rupert. He was safely asleep. "Ripper?"

"I said keep still."

"But the child, we have to save …"

"It's not a child."

It was, he could hear the infant wailing. Terrified. Desperate. Alone. Why would anyone abandon a child here? The question, the logic of it, broke the spell. The child might not have been abandoned. The demon could have stolen it, but Ripper could be right. The demon might be mimicking a child, using natural human instinct to draw its prey to it. And he was the prey.

He heard a sound, a whisper, a brush of skin against skin. Letting go of his body, Giles allowed Ripper to take control. A clattering raced toward him, a thundering of claws against floor. There was a face, that of a woman, pale and as detached as the moon. It rushed at him, but no, it wasn't just a face. There was a body underneath, big and bulky. As he threw himself to the left, out of the demon's path, Rupert got a sense of feathers and a glimpse of talons, sharp enough to tear his gut out. He slammed against the wall with a thud and lost sight of the creature as he scrambled for the relative safety of the hall. Crouched on the floor, panting, Ripper listened, trying to hear past the silence. There was nothing. He rose slowly and peered back into the room. The demon had vanished.

"Bloody idiot." There were five doors, all open. The demon could come through any one of them. Giles could have shut them on his way through when he'd been casing the joint, but no, he'd been too busy searching for the demon to think about watching his back. Cocky bastard.

Ripper stepped back into the room, but felt only slightly more secure. He'd thought he'd been lucky, getting through that attack with nothing more than a few bruises but now he wasn't so sure. The demon had been ungainly in its attack. It hadn't kept up with him. Perhaps it couldn't. Based on the feathers, it could be some sort of harpy, which meant it'd be deadly in the air but awkward on the ground. If so, the house would provide some defense. The demon wouldn't have room to fly.

He had to control the situation, to draw the demon out and choose the time of it's attack. Standing at the edge of the room, with his back to the wall, that left the ball in the demon's court. It could wait before attacking, but if he moved into the center of the room, where it could see him, that might set if off. Most demons weren't known for their patience.

Ripper stepped into the middle of the room. A dark mass moved, rushing at him. Riper swung his sword, sending feathers flying. A claw raked his leg as a high-pitched scream, like that of a baby, tore through the room. Ripper fell against the wall, holding his sword at the ready. The demon's pale face glowed from the far side of the room. It wasn't attacking. He must have hurt it. Shifting away from the wall, Ripper tested his leg. It would do. He took two steps forward and slashed his sword across the demon's eyes. It screamed as it scuttled back. He stepped forward and thrust his sword straight through its chest.

Ripper kicked at the corpse. An owl-like creature as tall as a man but with the face of a woman? It wasn't any demon he'd ever heard of. Giles would want it gone. A decomposing demon of this size would stink up the place up right quick, but that was Giles' problem. Ripper killed them. Giles dealt with the rest. If Giles had any brains at all, he'd find someplace to burn it and get that Tucker lad to cart it away. What use was a minion if you didn't make him do the dirty work?


	26. Welcome to the Harvest 10

**Note**: Cecil Ashworth, Quentin's nephew, is convinced Giles has killed his uncle (the Watcher killed by Eyghon). For bringing this to Quentin's attention in a flamboyant manner, Cecil has been assigned to index demonology texts for a year.

This wasn't his bed. The mattress was too hard. Cecil considered rolling over but, well, some lady, whomever he's spent the night with, was bound to be offended. He sat up and blinked in surprise, vaguely disappointed that there was no lady. The heavy wooden bed-set, the tan walls, these all belonged to the bedroom he'd grown up in. With a groan he remembered where he was and why: the family estate, bound to purgatory, doomed to index demonology texts for an entire year. No wonder he'd slept through the alarm. He fell back onto the bed. Perhaps he should sleep awhile longer.

It seemed as if no time had passed before there was a knock on the door but the clock had swung around another twenty minutes. "Cecil." Oh good Lord, mother's bellow.

He pulled the covers down to see her standing at the edge of the room, decked for the outdoors in a tan jacket, dark turtleneck, plaid skirt, and, please no, walking shoes.

"I won't have this lollygagging about. Get up, get dressed, have breakfast, and come find me."

A chat. With mother. Cecil sat up and put his head in his hands. This wasn't right. He'd been standing up for the family honor. Giles had killed uncle Rod, but was Giles being punished? No, he'd been assigned to the current Slayer while Cecil was doomed to languish at Darlington Manor for a good year. If he was lucky, uncle Quentin would have forgiven him by then. It was damned unfair.

Cecil found her sitting in the gardens. "Mother?"

"Good, come walk with me."

Cecil stifled a moan. A walk with mother meant a cross-country hike.

"It'll do you good."

He was doomed. They'd walked for about five minutes, meandering through the gardens rather than heading out for an extended hike, before Cecil realized that while technically mother's requests didn't rank higher than the task that uncle Quentin, as Head of the Council, has assigned him, he could use any requests she might make as an excuse to avoid his indexing task. It obviously couldn't be put off forever, but he would count any delay as a boon.

"Cecil." As usual her look suggested she could read his thoughts. "Do you know why I want to talk with you?"

He tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid sighing. "I made a scene, an unnecessary scene, in uncle Quentin's office. You don't believe Rupert Giles killed uncle Rod. Quentin was being more than kind in giving me such a light sentence."

"The scene was unnecessary and far too flamboyant, and Quentin has been generous. You could have been expelled from the Council. As for that Giles scion, don't be an idiot Cecil, of course I know he murdered Roddie."

"But Quentin said …"

"Quentin is protecting the family. Rupert Giles is dangerous, more so than you realize. Moving against him requires caution. Do you think you could be cautious?"

"Yes, mother, of course."

"No you can't but you can do what you're told."

Index demonology texts, he thought ruefully.

"You'll be looking into Rupert Giles' past. This can't be the first time he's stepped outside the bounds. We need to know what else he's done. Don't talk to anyone in the Council. Don't use your own name. We can't afford for this to get out."

She stopped and brandished her walking stick into one of the bushes to push the leaves aside. "Weed." As she knelt down into the dirt, she called up, "Well come along Cecil. I don't have all day. Hold these leaves off to the side." He felt clumsy as he knelt down next to her. She pulled a trowel out from someplace and started digging at the offending plant. "There was some nonsense with the Giles lad and a demon, oh, twenty years back now. Start there."

They wanted evidence. He'd find it, and if it wasn't there to be found, he'd … The flat of her trowel smacked down against his undefended thigh. "Ow!"

"Find the evidence. Don't create it out of thin air. We can't afford a mistake."


	27. Welcome to the Harvest 11

Rupert had hoped to be finished in the main office before seven but had, unaccountably, overslept and didn't pull into the parking lot until a quarter after. He stopped outside of the office to see if he could possibly … but no, Kris glanced up and saw him watching. Damn, he'd hoped to avoid her but it was too late now and his business couldn't wait.

"Ah, good morning Miss Mansfield." She smiled brightly up at him but didn't reply. Apparently he wasn't allowed to be this formal. "Kris, that is. Good morning Kris."

"Rupert. What can I do for you?"

He noted with relief that her tone was professional, lacking the flirtatious subtext of their previous encounters. "I'm looking for Bob." The back office, Bob's office, was dark. "Isn't he in?"

"Bob … well, I don't know if you've heard." She paused as if she didn't want to give him bad news. Had the principal been attacked? It wouldn't be the first death associated with the school. The previous librarian, for example, but that may have been the Council making way for him. "There were deaths last night," she continued. "A number of students were … It was at a local club, the Bronze. There's to be an assembly, third period, for the whole school. Bob's with a couple of teachers from the English department, working on his speech."

The Bronze. Deaths. He'd left for the Bronze, the night before, with Buffy and with Willow. What had happened? "Who died?"

"Huh?"

He jammed his hands into his pockets so he wouldn't slam his fists onto her desk. "The students. Who's dead?"

"I have the list here someplace." After a moment, she stopped scrounging through her desk and gazed up at him. "Willow is fine."

"What?" Did Kris know about Willow's power, about the hooks he'd put into the girl's chakras?

"Miss Rosenberg. Her name isn't on the list."

Was Kris a witch herself? How had she connected him to Willow? "I, um, thank you, but perhaps I could see the list?"

She dug through paperwork for another minute and handed it over. "You understand the names haven't been officially released yet. You can't share this information …"

"Quite," he interrupted as he handed the paper back. Buffy's name wasn't on it. Willow's name wasn't on it. That was all he needed to know.

She seemed disgruntled. Ah, the interruption. "I apologize for being so abrupt. So very few students even come into the library. I hadn't expected it would disturb me, the thought that one of them might have died."

"Of course." Despite her words, she didn't seem to be appeased. "What was it you'd come in for? You wanted to see Bob?"

"Mentoring. I'll be mentoring one of the students, before school that is."

"Oh, he did leave a file." As she scrounged, once again, through paperwork, Rupert found his foot tapping against the floor. He forced it to stillness. She pulled out a folder and glanced through it. "Permissions seem to be in order. One homeroom transfer for …" She stared up as if surprised. "Buffy Summers?"

"Yes, I have some experience with troubled teens and thought I could be of some small assistance."

"I see." She glanced through the papers again. "Everything seems to be in order. I'll ask Mrs. Miller to send Buffy along to the library when she shows up at her old homeroom."

"Thank you. I appreciate the help."

"No problem." Her smile was open and friendly, still lacking the flirtatiousness she'd displayed in his earlier visits. Perhaps he'd imagined it. That would certainly be for the best. He couldn't take up with anyone associated with the high-school. For him to be truly effective, his interactions with Buffy had to remain unnoticed.


	28. Welcome to the Harvest 12

Rupert couldn't help but be fascinated by how much power the Hellmouth held over the human mind. There had been a massacre at the Bronze the night before. Many of these students had been there but not one seemed to recall last night's more supernatural elements. It was unfortunate that he couldn't perform a study but of course his duty to the Council came first. Still, while he was waiting for Buffy to arrive, perhaps he could pull a student aside and ask a few questions. And of course, as soon as he hd that thought, there she was, stepping out of the most atrocious nightmare of a suburban vehicle he'd ever seen.

There seemed to be a woman in the front seat, presumably Buffy's mother. Did the woman honestly feel it necessary to drive her teenage daughter to school. That would pose a problem. Buffy needed to be at school well before homeroom started. Fortunately issues revolving around her mother were Buffy's problem, not his.

"Buffy." He most certainly did not need to know why she'd chosen to combine an almost stylish dress with a leather jacket.

She pulled a lollipop out of her mouth and paused to look at it before replying. "Giles. Waiting at the front gate. For me. Is there an apocalypse? Please tell me there's no apocalypse."

"No apocalypse. I want you in the library."

"Okay, but you'll have to make it quick. I've got homeroom in about …" She paused to glance at her watch. "… ten minutes."

"No you don't, well, that is you do have homeroom but it's been moved. To the library."

"My homeroom … Wait. Everyone in my homeroom or just me."

"Don't be tiresome. Obviously you alone. I'm enhancing your training, adding meditations that are best performed early in the day. You would, actually, gain the most benefit by performing them just as you are waking but it's an imperfect world and we make do with what we have. "

"Giles, are you trying to kill my social life because I have to tell you that's a waste of time. After Cordelia and the stake last night? It's already dead."

Gods, did she not listen to him at all? "Buffy, please, I need you to calm down. You should come to these meditative techniques … Hold on. Did you just say you'd staked a student?"

"No," she grumbled. "I'm saying I've already all but staked my social life."

"Buffy. Library. You have eight minutes. I've already cleared the change with Principal Flutie."

He was waiting in the library, trying for patience, when the bell rang. Honestly, did he have to head out and hunt her down? The doors swung open and she dashed in as if she'd been running the entire way. "Sorry, I was telling Willow why I had a new homeroom. So, Giles, why do I have a new homeroom?"

How could she expect to survive as a Slayer if she couldn't be bothered to listen? "Your focus is weak. I want you meditating twenty minutes each morning. We'll use what little time we have today but I want you here earlier tomorrow."

"Earlier? To meditate? You're joking, right? This has to be a joke."

"Buffy, please sit."

She grumbled a bit but did flop down onto a chair.

"Ah, you should probably sit on the table to meditate."

She gave him an odd look as she jumped onto the table.

"Legs crossed."

She crossed one leg over the other.

Rupert held back a sight. "I obviously meant lotus position."

"Lotus what?"

Rupert pinched the bridge of his nose. "I take it your previous Watcher didn't teach you to meditate?"

"No." Gods, was she actually pouting? "Is there coffee? I could really use a coffee."

"You can have a cup of tea after you've meditated."

"Tea? Ugh, no thanks."

Rupert breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to have to share his Harrods stash with the barbarian child.


	29. Welcome to the Harvest 13

Giles couldn't help but think that Willow would have made a better Slayer than Buffy. Where Buffy had arrived late, Willow had not only arrived early, she was bouncing with what appeared to be excitement. A skyblue sweater hung from her slight frame. Giles took a moment to appreciate the color, not for the color itself but for what it represented. Blue had psychic associations with openness and Giles would certainly need Willow to trust him for this to work. "There you are. Good. Ready to begin?"

"I've been thinking about it all morning. Do you really think I could do magic?"

"You're ready to believe magic exists?"

"Well, like you said last, night vampires do and so it sort of makes sense that there's more … Oh." The color drained out of her face. "It does exist, right? I mean, you're not just …"

What was wrong with the girl? She honestly seemed to believe the lessons had been a ruse, no, not a ruse, a trick to torment her? Gods, he had to stop that line of thought immediately. If she shut down, it'd be that more difficult to get through to her. He took her hands in his. When she looked up, her face was apprehensive as if she expected to be smacked down, not physically more than likely, but verbally. "Of course magic is real. I'll show you some now, before we start."

He had her sit at the table and sat across from her. "Magic requires an exact mindset, one rather similar to a trance." Her face said she didn't quite believe him. "Here, I'll show you."

Willow gasped as the book rose off the table, which is precisely why levitation spells were among the first taught. They were simple but dramatic spells, easy to learn but impressive to see, giving the student that extra boost of belief in magic which was often half the battle with beginners. "Ready to give it a try?"

"But I don't even know where to start." Her eyes were wide and her voice trembled.

She seemed almost afraid and it took a moment before he understood why. Willow was terrified of failure. He took her hands in his. "Willow, I'll be teaching you. I'll tell you everything you need to know. Magic requires focus, a certain mindset. It will take some time for you to pick it up, but the beginning exercises are simple. The first thing I need you to do is to relax. I'll be holding onto your hands. Let my hands be your anchor. I want you to close your eyes and follow my voice. You're at a beach. The warm sunlight sinks deeply into any tense places in your body. You feel your muscles warm and relax in response."

As he continued speaking, Willow followed, sinker deeper and deeper into a relaxed state until her mind had stilled and her shields, untrained but there all the same, had dropped. He struck quickly, sending power out from his hands and into hers, following her energy channels and sinking into her chakras, leaving spiles – spigots that could be turned on or off at his will – behind in each.

Giles continued with the lesson. While Willow's magic was now his to call on at will, continuing the training would keep her close. If she died, he'd lose the power. Keeping her close made practical sense. "Your turn."

He pulled out a sponge ball and set it on the table before her. She picked it up and squished it between her fingers. "With this?"

"Yes. Why not? It's small, it's light, and it can't hurt anyone when you lose focus."

"_When_ I lose focus?"

"Trust me. When I started learning, I lost focus thousands of times, tens of thousands of times. It's part of the process. Shall we give it a go?"


End file.
